I Will Not Be a Matriarch Who Raises Women to Raise Men

Ya'll, let me tell you what happened to me today. I was getting ready for an appointment, minding my business, when this truth just hit me upside the head. And I said something out loud to my husband that I've been carrying around for years but never had the courage to speak.

I looked at him and said:

"I will not become the matriarch of a family who raises women to think it's their responsibility to raise a man."

Now, this wasn't the first time I've recognized this pattern in my life, but honey, it was the first time I declared war on it. It was the first time I served notice to every generational stronghold that has been holding the women in my family hostage for decades.

When my twin brother and I went into foster care at four years old, I didn't just lose my childhood, I never really had one to begin with. In that moment, I went from being a four-year-old child (though I'm not even sure I knew what that felt like) to being a four-year-old mother. My brother became my responsibility, my purpose, my whole identity.

I learned to take care of people before I learned to take care of myself. I mastered the art of anticipating everybody's needs before I even knew what my own needs were. This became my survival mechanism, my way of feeling valuable, my definition of love.

This mess followed me everywhere I went. In Job Corps, I dated this guy who eventually told me I was "too much like a mom." Honey, I was so offended because I genuinely thought I was just caring deeply. But looking back now, I can see the truth in his words. I was mothering that man, managing his life, making his problems my problems.

Throughout all my relationships, I found myself drawn to men who needed me. I helped them find jobs, secured housing, solved their problems. I thought this was love. I thought this was my purpose. I thought this was what made me valuable.

Here's the crazy part, and y'all might laugh at this, but it's true, I'm still friends with almost every single one of my exes. You know why? Because they didn't see me as an ex-girlfriend. They see me as a mom. How could you be upset with your mom, the person who spoke life into you and helped to raise you? I don't know what was wrong with me. Y'all pray for me.

Even in my marriage, I brought this overwhelming need to take care of my husband. I see now how this may have held him back in ways I never intended. There were things he could have handled himself, but I was so conditioned to be the helper, the fixer, the one who makes life easier for everyone else.

The hardest part isn't recognizing this pattern in myself, it's seeing it everywhere around me.

Three Generations of Cotten Women

My daughter will be 18 next March, and she became a teen mom at 16. So not only am I watching her repeat my patterns with men, but she's already started the cycle of young motherhood that runs in our family. My 23-year-old son just became a father to a 2-year-old, and while he's a great dad who absolutely loves his son, I can see areas where there's room for improvement, areas where my over-mothering may have affected his ability to fully step into all aspects of manhood and partnership.

Some days, I wanna slap my own self in the face because I also raised my son in a way that was to his detriment. To. His. Detriment. And I often look at myself and say, "Girl, you did a horrible job at raising somebody's husband."

Now before y'all come for me, I see you helicopter moms. I see you single mamas who did it alone and tried to raise your sons the best you could to not see them dead or in jail. I feel you because I was you. I was a single mom with my son until I met my husband when my son was a young boy. When you're raising a Black son in this world, especially alone, you're scared. You're trying to protect him from a system that wasn't designed for him to win. You're trying to keep him alive, keep him safe, keep him out of trouble.

So we hover. We do everything for them. We make excuses for them. We clean up their messes because we love them and we're terrified of what might happen if we don't.

Our intentions came from a place of love and protection, but somewhere along the way, our protection became their prison.

The truth is, I had such a hard time giving my son back to God because I had made my son an idol. (Whewww God, help me Lord!) Caring for him became an idol, and him needing me became an idol. Now I'm looking at it, and I'm like, this is horrible. But I also know that beating myself up about it won't change anything. What I can do is acknowledge it, learn from it, and do better moving forward.

The urgency I feel to break this cycle isn't just about someday, it's about right now. I have two grandbabies, a 2-year-old from my son and my daughter's 6 month old baby, and they're both watching these patterns play out in real time. Every day I wait is another day these precious babies absorb what they think is normal. This isn't about breaking cycles for some future generation. My children are already parents. The patterns I taught them are already affecting my grandchildren.

I want better for my son. I want better for my daughter. I want better for my grandchildren. I just wanna do better.

If you're reading this and you see yourself in my story, don't you dare condemn yourself. We did what we thought was best with the knowledge and fear we had at the time. But now we know better, so we can do better.

I'm in this unique position where I can either be the grandmother who perpetuates the cycle or the one who breaks it. I can either teach my grandbabies that this dysfunction is normal, or I can show them something different. The clock is ticking, and I choose to be the one who breaks it.

Now don't get me wrong, when you become a wife, be a good wife. There's nothing wrong with caring for your husband, supporting him, or being his partner in life. Marriage is a partnership where both people contribute to each other's well-being and growth.

But there's a distinct difference between being a supportive wife and losing yourself to the detriment of a man. A good wife encourages her husband's strengths, challenges him to grow, and supports his dreams. She doesn't do everything for him to the point where he stops doing for himself.

A healthy marriage involves a woman who maintains her own identity, pursues her own goals, and brings her whole self to the relationship. She helps her husband become the best version of himself, not by doing everything for him, but by believing in him, respecting him, and loving him enough to let him be responsible for his own growth and choices.

The difference is this:

A good wife walks alongside her husband. A parentified woman carries her husband on her back.

For us women of color especially, this pattern runs deep in our DNA. Our ancestors survived by being strong, by taking care of everyone, by holding families together when systems failed them. This strength was necessary for survival. It was heroic. It was love in its most sacrificial form.

But what was once survival has become a prison. What was once necessary has become a choice. And today, I choose differently.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Today, I had to sit my daughter down and tell her something I've never modeled: "Your priority is not raising that man. You're going to have to allow him to live his life and be responsible for his own growth." The words felt foreign coming from my mouth because I've never lived them myself.

It hurt to say it. It hurt to acknowledge that I've been teaching her the wrong thing by example. It hurt to realize that breaking this cycle means disappointing people who have grown comfortable with my constant caretaking.

If you're reading this and seeing yourself in my story, I need you to know something:

You are not required to be the person you thought you had to be. You are not obligated to continue patterns that no longer serve you, even if those patterns once kept you safe.

The version of yourself that learned to survive by taking care of everyone else was necessary then. She was beautiful. She was strong. She was enough. But she doesn't have to be who you are now.

You have permission to evolve. You have permission to set boundaries. You have permission to let other people be responsible for their own lives, their own growth, their own mistakes.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." (Isaiah 43:19)

Breaking generational cycles isn't just about changing behavior, it's about changing identity. It's about grieving the version of yourself that felt needed because she was indispensable, and embracing the version that knows she's valuable simply because she exists.

It's about teaching your daughters that their worth isn't tied to how well they can manage someone else's life. It's about showing them that love doesn't require losing yourself.

So I'm asking you: What cycles do you recognize in your life that you've been ashamed to speak out loud? What patterns have you carried in silence because acknowledging them means you have to do something about them?

The truth is, breaking these cycles hurts. It's uncomfortable. It forces you to have conversations you've never had and set boundaries you've never set. People might not understand. They might even be disappointed.

But your freedom is worth their temporary discomfort. Your daughter's future is worth the hard conversations. Your granddaughter's wholeness is worth breaking the pattern now.

Today, I declare that the cycle stops here. I will not be a matriarch who raises women to think it's their responsibility to raise grown men. I will not teach daughters that their value comes from how well they can manage someone else's life or fix someone else's problems.

I will love without losing myself. I will care without carrying what isn't mine to carry. I will support without enabling. I will be strong without being everyone's strength.

And after 18 years of marriage, I'm learning to be a wife who walks alongside her husband, not one who carries him.

This is my declaration. This is my freedom. This is my gift to the generations that come after me.

What's yours?

Breaking generational cycles isn't just about changing your life, it's about changing your lineage. It's about being the ancestor your descendants thank God for. You have the power to be that woman. You have the courage to break that cycle. You have the strength to set yourself and your family free.

The reason why I must set my family free, NOW